


Coming home

by rimz08



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1997478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rimz08/pseuds/rimz08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constance welcomes her husband home</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mithlomi - because you seem to like this kind of fluff as much as me!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mithlomi+-+because+you+seem+to+like+this+kind+of+fluff+as+much+as+me%21).



> Pure fluff to make you feel good. Hope you like it, please review!

Constance is in the market place with Marie, holding her hand as she moves to stall to stall, when the carriage comes into view, flanked by Musketeers. Around her everyone begins to talk and point, the women especially, all craning their necks for a glimpse of their monarch, but really wanting a better view of the handsome soldiers in their blue cloaks.  
Constance grabs Marie and swings her up onto her hip. As the coach trundles past four musketeers wave at her discreetly and Marie squeals with pleasure, in particular at one of them of who seems to have lost his hat.  
"Come Marie, let's go see papa."  
Marie nods emphatically. "Papa!" she repeats over and over again. Although Constance is not sure that after a month of her father's absence Marie even really knows what the word means.  
Basket in one hand, Marie in the other, Constance hurries to the garrison. The king, queen and little Louis have been to visit the Duke and Duchess of Savoy, guarded, of course, by the king's faithful musketeers. It has been a long month. Marie has reached the age of two and is a charming but precocious child. Her olive skin, auburn hair and dark brown eyes make adults bend down to pat her head or offer her a treat. But now, besides worrying about d'Artagnan, Constance has to face temper tantrums and long drawn out bedtimes. Only last night Marie had decided that her feet were so interesting she simply could not go to sleep. Every time her mother put the blanket on her, Marie would kick it off, wave her legs in the air and shout "My feet! My feet!"   
Constance has also missed adult company (as adult as talking to four idiot men can be, that is). Her best lines today generally include "Put it down", "that's dangerous" and "get down from there now!" Marie, for her part, has perfected "it's mine!"  
She reaches the garrison in time to watch them arriving on horseback, back from the Louvre. As they dismount their horses and stretch their aching limbs she narrows her eyes, looking for injuries. Nothing serious presents itself, although Aramis seems to have a slight limp and d'Artagnan is definitely favoring one side. Not the damn ribs again, she thinks. And he has a cut over one eye. As Porthos turns she sees that he is a black eye and split lip. Par for the course, she thinks to herself.  
Once the horses are tied up she sets Marie down. The girl sets off immediately towards her father, dismissing any worries Constance might have had about her forgetting him. She toddles across the cobblestones as fast as her fat little legs will carry her. D'Artagnan crouches down and opens his arms to her, wrapping her in a hug, lifting her up and spinning her around. Only Constance sees the pain he is hiding in doing it. Marie giggles and the others grin widely.  
Constance hangs back for a moment before approaching the group. As she reaches them Porthos grabs Marie from her father and turns her upside down, causing her to laugh hysterically. "Come here you little turnip!" He says, tickling her exposed tummy.  
Constance takes the opportunity to wrap her arms around her husband and kiss him long and deeply. When she pulls back she runs a finger gently along the cut above his eye.  
"Nice needlework Aramis," she says.  
The other musketeer bows low, with a flourish.  
She turns back to her husband. "Where did you lose it this time?"  
"Who said I lost it?" He replies, raising an eyebrow at her. "Maybe someone stole it? Maybe the wind blew it away?"  
Then remembering Marie is still upside down Constance turns to Porthos. "Please try not to drop my daughter on her head."  
"Sorry," he says, somewhat sheepishly, offering her the child, but before she can take her Athos has grabbed her. She settles into him and throws her arms around his neck. She then points at his hat. "Hat! My hat!"  
"No, not your hat Marie," he says slowly.  
"My hat! My hat!" She continues, bouncing up and down in his arms, reaching for his hat.  
"Oh come on Athos, you know you can't resist her. She is my daughter after all." D'Artagnan flashes him a smile.  
"Well, maybe if her father could hold on to his own hat, I wouldn't have to give up mine," he sighs. But he takes it off anyway and places it on Marie's head. He then sets her down and she toddles around them, eyes hidden by the too-big hat, bumping into their legs, until Aramis bends down and raises the brim.  
She looks him straight in the eye, points to his beard and says "What that?"  
"A beard. Another thing you don't have, daddy," he chuckles.  
"Alright everyone, enough teaching my daughter bad tricks. Come to papa Marie."  
Marie shakes her head. "No want."  
"And now you know why I am so glad you are back!" Constance tells him, snaking an arm around his waist. "It has been a long month."  
"Yes it has," cuts in the captain, coming down the stairs. "I don't want to see any of you for three days. Not even our smallest recruit down there," he tells them as Marie bumps into her mother and sits down smack on her bottom.  
"No arguments from us sir," says Aramis, "Let's go, before he changes his mind."  
D'Artagnan picks up Marie and swings her onto his shoulders. "Come on, let's go home girls."  
"Hey, what about my hat?" says Athos, running after them. "I do not trust you with my headwear young lady!"  
Porthos and Aramis shake their heads and roll their eyes before following along.

Hours later, when the others have gone, Constance bathes Marie and wraps her in a towel. She helps her husband ease off his shirt, silently staring at his bruises (about which she doesn't ask, best not to think about it too much), and wash himself clean, before easing him into their bed. She dresses Marie in a night shirt and sits her down on the bed next to her father. "My bed!" Declares Marie, happily.  
"Um no, we have talked about this. Your bed is over there. This is mama and papa's bed," Constance tells her.  
"My bed! My bed!"  
"She's almost as bad as you once she gets an idea in her head." Constance tells him, "I'll just get her a drink before bed. Watch her for a second."  
"'Course," he tells her, leaning back against the pillows, breathing in the scent of Constance and Marie from the linens, so pleased to be home.  
By the time Constance comes back with Marie's bedtime drink d'Artagnan is fast asleep, Marie curled up against his side, between him and the wall, sucking her thumb.   
She doesn't want to wake him but she also doesn't much like the idea of sleeping curled up on Marie's tiny bed. Or of sleeping without him another night, for that matter. So she pokes his arm gently, moving him over, and slides in next to him. She kisses his forehead lightly.  
"Glad you're back," she says, "bedtimes were such a nightmare without you."  
"Good to know I'm useful," he mutters, before falling back to sleep.


End file.
